


Nightlife

by Velichorr



Series: VWverse: In Sunlight and Shadow [1]
Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23391397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velichorr/pseuds/Velichorr
Summary: Hans and a very sleep-deprived Sylvia meet at an airport. Inspired by this prompt: "stuck in an airport because the flights were SO VERY  delayed and it's like two am AU".
Relationships: Hans Landa/Original Female Character(s)
Series: VWverse: In Sunlight and Shadow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684861
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Nightlife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AttendezlaCreme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttendezlaCreme/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Velvet Waltz](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20592395) by [AttendezlaCreme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttendezlaCreme/pseuds/AttendezlaCreme). 



> Inspired by AttendezlaCreme's Velvet Waltz. If you haven't read that, YOU MUST! I started this in January before dusting it off and finally finishing it now. It was definitely fun imagining Hans and Sylvia in modern times, and I hope I did them justice!

Sylvia slumped in a chair in the airport gate, her bags lying at her feet on the floor. Her phone was plugged into a charging port nearby. Her eyes were heavy, and she was exhausted, but sleep eluded her. She raised the Styrofoam cup to her lips and sipped a bit of lukewarm coffee- the only thing keeping her going. She was feeling pretty miserable about her situation.

She’d traveled out of state to research a story and was _supposed_ to fly home today, but her flight had been delayed multiple times. It was now one or two in the morning. Sylvia sighed heavily and looked at the other people crowded into the waiting area: a sleeping elderly couple, and some haggard-looking tourists. A sullen teenage girl sitting across from her was staring down at her phone. Everyone was lost in his or her own little world.

“Flight 78 to New York is now boarding in Terminal A…” she waited impatiently for the announcement, but it never came. Sylvia shifted around in an attempt to get more comfortable, rubbing at her aching neck. _I really should have gotten one of those neck pillows at the gift shop…_

“Excuse me, madame, is this seat taken?”

A voice suddenly interrupted Sylvia’s thoughts. It was a man speaking English with a German- no, Austrian- accent.

“What? Oh, no, it’s not.” She looked up to see who had spoken.

It was an older man, perhaps in his late forties, with hazel eyes and dark blonde hair. His suit looked like it had just been pressed and ironed, and a small part of Sylvia resented him for that alone. He was handsome, undeniably so, but in her exhausted state that was the last thing she cared about.

He gave her a polite smile and sat down next to her. “My name is Hans Landa, and you are?”

“Sylvia. Sylvia Leventhal.” She said, yawning.

“And where exactly are you going, Sylvia?” Hans studied her with undisguised interest.

“New York City. You?”

He chuckled. “I am also traveling to New York! What are the odds?”

“Yeah. Small world…” Sylvia muttered under her breath, taking a bite out of her stale donut.

After that, she figured Hans would lose interest and leave her alone, but he was persistent: “Tell me, Sylvia, what do you do for a living?” he asked.

She merely shrugged. “I’m a journalist. I was on my way home after traveling for a story, but, as you can see; I got a little held up…” she flashed him a wan, mirthless smile.

Hans gave a slight nod. Like he truly understood. “I see …Yes, that _is_ unfortunate. I’m sure you’re eager to return home.”

Sylvia sighed heavily, running a hand through her lank hair. “God, you have no idea…” her voice trailed off. “What about you? What’s your story?” She was almost teasing him now. Challenging him. But secretly, she was curious. How many handsome, well-dressed, older men did you run into at the airport at two in the morning?

Hans gave her a sly, knowing look- almost as if he’d read her mind. “If you really must know, my dear girl, I am a police detective.” To dispel any doubt, he reached into his breast pocket and flashed her his badge.

Sylvia’s eyes widened. “Jesus!” she breathed. She had a sudden realization: Hans seemed vaguely familiar. But where had she seen him before? She wracked her memory… “Hey, didn’t I see you on TV once?”

Now he looked undeniably smug. “I’m quite certain you did.”

“You solved the murder of that girl who got killed twenty years ago.”

“The very same.”

Sylvia had been ten or eleven then. It was such a terrible story. A fourteen-year-old girl had been raped and murdered, her body thrown in a shallow ditch. The few leads soon went cold, and the killer was never identified.

Sylvia swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “I’m sure…I’m sure her parents must be really grateful to you.”

“Yes, of course.” Hans clasped his hands. “What happened to that poor girl was a tragedy. But I did all I could for them. So I try not to dwell on it too much…” For just a moment, he looked a bit disturbed. Sylvia saw a flicker of _something_ in his eyes- maybe pain, maybe not- but it came and went so quickly she couldn’t identify it.

She changed the subject to something less upsetting: “So what brings you all the way out here?”

This brought Hans back to his old self. He laughed softly, and said in a low voice: “I’m working on something that is, shall we say, _off the books…_ ”

Sylvia sat up straighter, listening intently. Her journalist’s brain was suddenly firing on all four cylinders. “Are you gonna tell me about that?” She hated that she sounded almost pleading.

Hans snorted and crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t even if I could.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. _Asshole._ She thought. “Nice. You went and got me excited for nothing…” she grumbled.

“What can I say? I am a man of many secrets, Sylvia, and I don’t give them away so easily…” Now Hans was just taunting her. There was a playful gleam in his eyes.

She pretended to pout. “Oh, come on! Can’t I know just _one_ thing about you? Or are you just determined to be a man of mystery?”

She’d cut through a bit of his arrogant façade. Hans briefly stroked his chin, looking contemplative, even thoughtful. “Well, I suppose I can divulge a _few_ details of my life…Nothing sensitive, mind you…”

Sylvia ended up learning quite a bit about Hans. He was fifty years old and originally from Vienna, but now lived in New York as an expat. His favorite musicians were Falco and David Bowie, and he spoke at length about watching the Berlin Wall fall on TV.

Sylvia blushed heavily, suddenly feeling very young indeed. “I was a _baby_ when that happened.” She admitted, adjusting her collar.

Hans raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Were you? If it’s any consolation, you seem quite mature for someone so young. You seem to have your priorities figured out.”

“You could say that, but I still have some growing up to do.” Sylvia said, dismissively waving him off.

Hans briefly put a hand on her shoulder. Sylvia’s heart quickened at his touch. “I wouldn’t worry about it. That is, after all, what one’s formative years are for.”

“I guess, when you put it that way…” Sylvia turned to look out the rain-streaked window. There were glass walls on all sides of the room. The sky was a field of dark clouds, and in the background she could see planes landing and taking off. The airport almost seemed like a city unto itself. Vast, cold, and impersonal. Until Hans showed up, she had felt trapped, almost claustrophobic. But his company made this whole experience not so bad. Almost enjoyable.

“I just want to go home.” She said after an interval. Sylvia sounded the slightest bit vulnerable and, for once, she didn’t care.

“I understand. Believe me, I know the feeling. I’ve gone through that more times than I care to count.” It was amazing, how Hans could go from this annoying, unreadable man, to someone who seemed caring. Almost kind.

Sylvia said nothing. Instead, she lay back, closed her eyes, and rested her head on Hans’ shoulder. Much to her surprise, he tolerated her. Sylvia drifted off for a while. She was not sure how much time had passed. But she was finally woken by the announcement:

“Flight 78 to New York is now boarding in Terminal A. Now boarding Group 1…”

“That’s us.” Sylvia rose unsteadily and picked up her bags.

“So it is.” Hans got up and stood beside her.

“Can I have your number?” Sylvia blurted. Why was she suddenly so self-conscious? _What the hell is wrong with me?! I’m not normally this bad!_ Why did she feel like an awkward middle schooler approaching her first crush?

“Certainly.”

Hans gave her his number, and she added him to her contacts on her phone.

“Thanks a lot.” She pocketed her phone. “See you at JFK?” she asked, daring to hope.

“Of course, but I simply don’t have time to hang around.” But Hans sounded almost sad as he said it.

“I wouldn’t even _dream_ of wasting your time!” Sylvia retorted, hands on her hips.

They waited impatiently for their groups to be called, then boarded the plane. Sylvia settled into her seat by the window. She looked around, but didn’t see Hans. She wasn’t even listening as the flight attendant rattled off the standard procedures. She’d flown many times and had them all memorized by now.

After what seemed like forever, they were finally in the air. Once again, Sylvia found herself looking out the window. The city fell away below her, a sea of distant lights and glimmering strands of gold. It felt strange, being so far above everything. Sailing through the night sky. It was strange, but it was beautiful, too. She felt her eyes growing heavy. It was time for some much-needed sleep. Sylvia collapsed against her leather seat, asleep within minutes. She fell asleep thinking of Hans, and how nice it would be if he were sitting beside her.

When they landed, it was still gray and overcast, but at least it was getting a bit lighter. Sylvia felt like a zombie when she awoke. Drained and sluggish. Somehow, she found the energy to get off the plane, dragging her luggage along. As people streamed into the airport, Sylvia stood there, waiting for Hans. She was even able to ignore the crowds of people thronging around her. He was the only thing she could think about. When was the last time she’d felt that way about a man?

Then, finally, she saw him coming toward her.

“Hans,” Sylvia went to him, her eyes bright with excitement.

“Good morning, Sylvia. How are you? I hope you slept well.” He asked. Hans, meanwhile, seemed as calm and put-together as he did hours ago. Sylvia wondered how he did it.

They walked together, navigating the crush of people coming and going. Why did it feel like it was just them?

“I slept, but I’m really running on empty. I need to have coffee and get something to eat. I’d ask you to join me but, well, you can’t.” Sylvia was unable to hide her sadness. She looked and sounded disappointed.

Hans stopped walking for a moment. He looked into her eyes. “I know, my dear girl, I know. I’d love to, but I simply don’t have the time. Just remember: you have my number. You may call or text me any time you want. I will always get back to you, even if it takes a while. Why don’t we get together sometime? Have dinner. Learn a little more about each other. I don’t want to be your mysterious stranger forever.”  
  


Sylvia stared at him in amazement, almost unable to believe what he was saying. “Hans, are you…Is that a date? Because it sure as hell sounds like it.”

He smirked. “Perhaps. But maybe not. It all depends on your perception…But I’m afraid I must be going.” Hans sighed and began walking ahead of her. “Farewell, Sylvia Leventhal. We’ll see each other again soon.” He truly looked sad.

“Yeah. Goodbye…” She stood and watched him disappear into the crowd.

Though she was still a bit disappointed, Sylvia was smiling as she walked away. Somehow, she had a feeling this would not be the last she saw of Hans Landa.


End file.
